I’m writing to you from the most exotic , long unscathed, foreign
reaches of the planet; In pajama’s and enjoying the smell of my Dad’s blue
berry pancakes. It’s been awhile, not
much has changed expect now my cat looks at me kind of funny. Actually yeah not
a thing has changed. I sit before laptop screen and on big comfy living room couch writing to you
from my home.
146 Nelson Street, Brantford Ontario. Canada. It’s been a week and a day, since my
feet have been planted on good ole Canadian Soil. I’m sleeping in my good ole
bedroom. Talking about boys with my good ole best friend. Meeting kids who
were like 2 days good new when I left, that are now like 35.
After I came through customs , out in the terminal they were
filming that show with loved ones reuniting . I’m not even sure what it’s
called but my Dad was always watching it while I was away. As I was coming down
the ramp they had camera’s and a big Canada word art thing. I was looking at
the crowd of anxiously waiting friends and families, looking for my Dad. By the
time I got to the bottom of the ramp I was sweatier than I should have been and
my Dad was nowhere to be seen.
The humidity is actually ridiculous here 27 degree high and
34 with humidity. I was wearing like 4 shirts, nylon under shorts and thick
sock slippers with the little rubber squishies on the bottom. On tv maybe I
would have looked like a gypsy. I didn’t know what my Dad would be wearing but I
could never miss him in a crowd.
*spoiler alert*
My Dad wasn’t there. I started melting into my own panic MY
PHONES AT 7% by this point. The airport phones only call local numbers. I got
connected to wifi and called my Dad over Facebook.
“Oh you’re here. I’m just down the road at coffee culture”
Cool ...enjoy your éclair.
The ride home from Toronto is just over an hour. My Dad
talked and talked and talked. We got home at 10:30 pm and I was hoping I’d fall
right asleep. I stayed up till 3 am and woke up at 7am. In the morning my Dad said
“you were so chatty on the way home I knew you wouldn’t fall asleep”.
The next day I surprised my Mom, aunt and cousins and showed
up at their doors. That was fun. My aunt must have heard my car and looked out
the window. I had only just pulled the key out when I heard
“RAISHA’S HOME. MAJ (my mom) MAJ RAISHA’S HOME.”
If you have never met a Jamaican, just know that they can be
loud. I don’t even know where in the house my aunt was yelling from but I think
the whole of London knew I was home. And I held my niece, if I didn’t have to I
would never put her down. She is gorgeous. She just stares at me, she smiles
than I just stare at her. I think we’re soul mates.
Being home is _____. Good, strange, nostalgic, important ...comfortably
uncomfortable. I want to travel again in November but I need a job first and
right now I need all my focus on my exhibit. The first round of photo’s are
printed! 8 x 16 , 5 x 7, 8 x 10 and canvas 11 x 14. The canvases are beautiful so
I will do most of the rest on canvas. I interrupted
some people’s cafe lunch to invite them because I was just so excited. I also
almost caused a car accident.
JULY 14TH @ STARVING ARTIST CAFE. 42 DALHOUSIE
STREET BRANTFORD, ON. 6PM-10PM COME ONE COME ALL. It’s pay as you feel with photo’s for sale.
Blogs to read along with the souvenirs from the moments. Cafe kitchen will be open.
Mic and small stage will be open.
It’s my Dad’s 70th Birthday all
proceeds going towards getting this handsome man his handsome smile back. He
needs dentures; I need him to be able to eat anything I bake especially when it
comes out burnt. Also he’s single so
like a good smile wins over any lady.
If you can’t make it I assume any connection we had to be
torn, shredded and totally terminated.
OF COURSE NOT.
But please like my facebook page Local Nomad and follow on insta @nomad.local
Forever and always,
Attendance or avoidance,
Canadian soil or Egyptian dessert,
Until next Wednesday,
Raisha
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